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About Wels

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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Walking by the old stone bridge on Am Fluss, I sometimes think, “Are we nothing more than code—a series of ones and zeros?” … eventually, you feel the same thrill as a sincere moment in a dark alley. Yeah, creepy but real. And boy, I got mad when the local council decided to obscure that spot with some bland lights. Rude, I tell ya, rude!

Prince Henri of Bourbon-Parma marries Archduchess Gabriella of Austria